Fuzzy

I invited this poor immigrant to attend a funeral for my shit.

Uh...

I work in their cafe area, so the people come in, they tell me what they want to eat, I hit a touchscreen, line cooks make it, I hand it to them, and I smile like a good little Chick-fil-A manager the whole time.

Such a guilty conscience.

Yeah.

Like, if I'm not doing something, I feel like, well, they hate me now, so we're going to go out there and we're going to make these people write me into their will if I have my way.

And there was a small theater there, and my friend was on the board of directors.

And he said, hey, I know you like doing stand-up.

Would you be interested in doing a show here?

And I said, sure, how long do you need?

And he said, well, we need to justify opening the bar, so if you can make it about 45 minutes, that would help us a lot.

I did it when I was 17 for like a few minutes at a church picnic.

Wow.

Okay.

So no.

Perfect.

Pretty much.

Yeah.

So I timed out everything I had and I said, hey, I got two hours.

Let's make it happen.